In the words of my mother, “thank you for spending so much time with Willa.”
I am not one for writing love notes. Until a year ago, I prided myself in feeling nothing (and on occasion I still sometimes do). But this Love is special, and you are too.
I want to say that this loves feels different, which is kind of dumb because we both agree that every love is different, and yet, this love feels different. It feels like racing up the platform and making it onto the train at the last second. It feels like a sigh of relief after a long day of meetings. It feels like slowly drifting off to sleep.
We didn’t expect anything from this, but here we are. The last time I wrote you a letter was a year ago, when I was way too far gone, in your living room, my handwriting flowy and probably illegible. I have no idea what I felt so compelled to write. Your reminder that this marks a year made me smile and my heart jumped into my throat and I sat down on the train, on my way to you, and began writing again. You make me want to write again.
I could say a lot more, about the ways you make me feel or the ways we love, but I’ll keep it short. You make me want to be a better human. You make me feel smart and strong and brave and capable and the most alive—which is no small feat.
I try not to hold my breath and hope for things too much, because who knows what might happen tomorrow. But I will work for this, for us, for as long as you’ll let me. Thank you everything you’ve given me in the last year.
I think I love you better now.